𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: a fake wedding ring for a mission and a crowded ballroom. benji dunn has spent months burying his feelings for you, but when the beatles' song "something" starts to play, he decides to stop pretending. this whole mission is a lie, this whole world really, but he finally lets you know that his love for you is beautifully real. influenced by the song "something" by the beatles!!
𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 1231
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔/𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔: female reader / fluff / some angst if you squint / friends to lovers / some swear words / both povs
𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: hiii, this is my first time ever posting (or even writing) a fanfic, but there's barely any fics of this cutie so i had to take things into my own hands. again, this is my first time actually writing a fic, so sorry if he's out of character and any spelling/grammar mistakes...anyways, any tips or feedback is greatly appreciated!! hope u enjoy <33
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𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒊'𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒗:
benji was leaning against a column trying his best to blend in with the elaborate marble, his gaze fixed on you. the ballroom was a sea of glittering tuxedos and gowns, but all he could see was you, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.
god, you were beautiful. your elegant dress and the way you confidently moved through the crowd drove him insane. he watched as you flashed a charming smile at an ambassador, softly laughing at the joke that he made. his jaw tensed as he felt jealousy twist in his stomach.
he knew it was all a carefully constructed disguise for the mission, down to the very last detail, including your "engagement" ring. the simple gold band on your left-hand, with its single, average-sized diamond was provided by the IMF, "proof" of your pretend marriage.
earlier during the party, you had held his hand, your fingers gently lacing his as you navigated a conversation with one of the party guests. it was a gesture meant to reinforce your cover story. he glanced down at your intertwined hands, watching the light from chandelier glitter down to your ring, the diamond shimmering softly on your finger.
in that fleeting, selfish moment, he couldn't help but wish it was all real. he wished that ring was a symbol of something else—a symbol that proved he had finally found the courage to confess his love, and where he was the one who had knelt and put that stupid ring on your finger.
and honestly? benji would have gotten you a much better one, not a simple, store-bought diamond provided for the job. he would have spend months searching for the perfect one, a unique gem he would have custom-cut and set, maybe even put a tiny, untraceable tracker in the band just because he could (he can’t really guarantee your safety in this line of work). he would have given you a ring that was priceless, something that was yours and yours alone, something that showed you that his love was unbelievably real in this world full of lies.
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𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒐𝒗:
you moved through the crowd with practiced grace, a polite smile plastered on your face as you nodded at the ambassador’s empty conversation. your had a glowing presence, but you felt more like a firefly trapped in a jar. the elegant dress was a beautiful cage, and the “wedding ring” felt heavy on your finger, a constant, sharp reminder of a truth that wasn’t. your gaze kept drifting back to benji, he was leaning against a pillar, trying to look casual, but you knew him too well. he was on edge, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on you. the sight made a strange knot form in your stomach–a mix of affection and a dull ache fro the things you couldn’t have.
you had held his hand earlier, lacing your fingers with his to sell the cover story. the warmth of his touch had been startling, almost distracting. you caught him looking down at your hand, his eyes lingering on the IMF-issued diamond. you knew he saw the fake ring, but you wondered if he also saw the real feelings in your heart. you had to look away before he saw the truth in your eyes, but the moment replayed in your head, a tiny, treasured scene in the middle of a big, fake production.
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𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒊'𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒗:
the background jazz gave way to the unmistakable, warm guitar riff of The Beatles. as the familiar notes of “something” filled the air, he saw you look at him and smile, a silent question in your eyes. he straightened up, a small, genuine grin finally touching his lips. it was the same thought that hit him every time he saw you: you had a way of moving and looking and smiling that was just…something. he’d never been able to put it into words, but The Beatles had already done it for him.
without a word, he walked over to you and took your hand in his. he led you onto the dance floor, pulling you close as the first line of the song began. he moved with a practiced ease you hadn’t expected, his hand resting light and sure on your back, the other holding yours. you swayed together, lost in the music and the moment, the rest of the world and the mission fading away.
“perfect song, right?” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear it. he looked down at you, and the sincerity in his eyes made your breath catch.
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𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒐𝒗:
you knew he knew. ever since you had told him about your father dedicating this song to your mother, and your hope for a love like theirs, he would play it for you during car rides to the bunker. the fact that this song was playing now, in this moment, felt like fate. it was like a secret language between the two of you, and it made the small, sincere smile on his face feel like the most beautiful thing in the world.
"it is," you whispered back, a smile spreading across your face. "our song?"
he didn't answer. he just tightened his grip on your hand and pulled you impossibly closer. he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, "i know this is bad timing."
you barely had time to wonder what he was going to say before he spoke again, his voice strained and quiet.
you barely had time to wonder what he meant before he spoke again, his breath warm against your skin. "I keep trying to remember the mission profile. I keep trying to tell myself that I’m just playing a part... that I'm just 'the husband' for the night."
he pulled back just enough to look at you, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes made your heart lurch. the playful, tech-genius mask was completely gone.
"but then this song starts," he whispered, his gaze dropping to the gold band on your finger. "and as selfish as it is, I realized that I don't care about the ambassador, or the files, or the exits. I just care that you're wearing a ring that I didn't get to choose for you. I care that I'm only allowed to hold you like this because a briefing told us to."
He moved with you to the music, his hand sure on your back, but his voice was trembling.
"It’s driving me insane, being this close and having it all be a lie. because when I look at you–when you smile at me like that–it’s the only real thing I’ve felt in years."
he leaned in again, his forehead resting against yours.
"when we get out of here, I want to take this off," he breathed, his hand ghosting over the fake diamond. "not because the mission is over. but because I want to replace it with something that actually belongs to us. something that isn't a disguise."
he didn't wait for you to pull away, because you didn’t. you just held him closer, letting the last notes of the song shield the truth of what he’d just confessed. for the first time, the "wedding ring" didn't feel like a heavy weight. instead, it felt like a countdown to the moment you could finally be real with him.
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notes: wahhhhh i love benji sm omg. i really hope you enjoyed this cute little story! ik this fandom is lowkey dead, so please please please leave a comment if you want more benji/mission: impossible related fics!! and writing tips are greatly appreciated <33
Before the lights, before the awards, before her name was printed in tiny gold letters on a Grammy award, there was just Catrin Evans and her guitar.
She never asked for the world. She was content playing small gigs in half lit bars, stringing melodies of heartbreak and hope, singing to crowds that barely filled the room. Music was the one thing that made sense to her, even when everything else felt too big or too small. It was enough, or at least, it had been.
Until Harry Styles heard her play.
Until he asked her to join his touring band.
Two years spent on the road with him blurred into a whirlwind of stolen moments and dangerous feelings - a love that grew deep, and complicated, and sometimes too heavy to carry. Even as they prepared for the final leg of the world tour, Catrin could feel the quiet cracks forming between them, too faint to name but too loud to ignore.
But life, as always, had other plans.
Taylor Swift was a mastermind, and a damn good one at that, though she didn't know it in this context. She invited Catrin to open for her in Arlington, the third weekend of her sold out tour; a one-off dream she couldn't have imagined months before. She told herself she was focused on the music, the moment, the experience. Until she met Jacob Elordi.
It wasn't love at first sight. It was something quieter, slower; a spark that flickered in the Texas heat while Taylor sang familiar songs of forever. Jacob was just a fan of Catrin's at first, standing in the VIP tent waiting to meet her, with that easy, crooked smile. Catrin, a lifelong Swiftie, had helped him dance, laugh and lose himself in the music. It was harmless, innocent. It had to be.
What she didn't know was that somewhere between the lights and the laughter, she had planted herself in Jacob's mind - a melody he couldn't stop humming long after the night had ended. He was in deep.
By August, everything had shifted. Love on Tour came to an end, and with it, so would her relationship. Her debut album would arrive like a thunderstorm, and the world started to take notice.
Now, with her second album on the horizon and a late-night talk show appearance, Catrin is about to meet Jacob again - and neither of them is quite the same as they were that April night in Texas.
Maybe this time, under the bright wash of studio lights and a different kind of stage, it wouldn't feel like falling.
AN: hellooooo. new fic about jacob elordi and an original character (based on gracie abrams). features some time jumps, au stuff (like her songs are not always gracie songs, relationships etc). generally just very lovely and fluffy! may attempt some nsfw at some point but for now a nice, slow build. fic starts in late august 2024, and we’ll build on the relationship from there! :)
All it's fake (or not) ! - Part -1 F!Reader x Agent Stone (Fake couple) F!Reader xRobotnik
--
Okay i'm so sorry for the time, but it's not possible for me to make a one shot with this idea. Soooo i did something stupid again.
Fake couple trope/ Ennemy to lover / Jealousy is for Robotnik /
Tag list is open
-Doctor, I know I haven't worked with you for a long time, but supporting an antisocial is not part of my skills.
Y/N stood there in front of him, the goblet still smoking in her hands. She had hoped, stealing it from Stone, that taking it to the doctor would make him kinder to her. But obviously, nothing could make a guy like him more sympathetic.
-You don't have many skills anyway!
- Ha! Hello doctor, how delighted I am to hear the sound of your voice again. She spat humorously, putting down the cup. You had to believe that coffee had a strong power of persuasion over him.
- May I know where Stone is? he added without even asking her how she feel. He hardly dared to look at her and it tended to disconcert her. Why had the doctor been avoiding her so much since the night Stone made him dance with her? It wasn't that terrible, was it? She danced so badly?
- He is busy. She lied, in part at least.
- Busy ? And what is my assistant doing if not being at my order?
- General Walters asked to see him, and besides… She took a quick look at her watch. Know that I have to join them in about five minutes.
She could hear the doctor perfectly swallow.
-You ?
- Perfectly.
-And Stone?
- That's right, doctor.
For the first time in the ten interminable minutes she had been in that devil's workshop, the doctor had looked up from his accursed machines. In his head seemed to form mathematical equations that had nothing to do with the problems she studied in elementary school.
-And me ?
-I beg your pardon ? she asked, as if she desperately wanted to hear the tone of voice he used to ask his question. Between fear, anger and something she couldn't decipher.
-Walters didn't tell you anything about me?
She shrugged.
-No, he probably thinks that you are too busy on your machines, or to be pissed off.
-Get the hell out of here Y/N! He spat like venom, she didn't need to be asked. Truth be told, pissing him off had been her favorite pastime ever since he'd given her such a nasty welcome on her first day. Y/n was not the type to be impressed by unsympathetic and unpleasant bosses, and this one seemed to count in his many doctorates that of the biggest asshole on Earth.
So much the better, if he thought he was discouraging her in this way, he was putting his finger in his eye. Y/N had cracked many worse than him.
—
Every mechanism had to be in its place, they were, he was sure of it and yet nothing worked as he wanted? Why ? And then why had Stone been summoned to Walters with that idiot Y/N and… Why was he thinking about that?!
The doctor sank into the back of his chair with a sigh. It suddenly seemed stuffy in his studio. Even though he did everything he could to get this question out of his head, it kept coming up on repeat.
Why were Stone and Y/N summoned together?
And him in all this? Wasn't he the most competent of all? Well, maybe those two alone could equal half his brain, but only thanks to Agent Stone. He might be stupid, but he wasn't as stupid as the rest of the humans he had met.
But her.
Since she had arrived, since she had interfered in his balance, something disturbed the doctor. Like a part that jams a machine and that we can't extract. He had tried everything to get her to leave. Silence (which she filled in with stupid jokes until he broke), meanness (he was good at it, but she was unlucky too), and indifference (except that it was impossible to stay indifferent to Y/N and…oh wait?), nothing worked, nothing!
He backtracked in his reasoning.
Indifference.
Impossible.
That was the problem, it was impossible. Nothing she did left him indifferent. That night, when Stone overindulged in champagne and tricked him into slow-dancing with her (who was just as drunk as his dorky assistant), Robotnik didn't just feel sick. He had felt something else that bothered him more than anything.
He'd smiled at one of those awful jokes (they sucked even more when she was drunk).
Well, she also called him a condescending bastard, while wrapping her arms around his neck, that's when things got out of hand. He thought he was in control, but that's if he pushed it away.
But he hadn't.
-What is happening to me?
- Are you okay doctor?
He jumped when he saw his assistant appear behind him. Did he speak out loud? Considering him for a moment to verify his hypothesis, he noticed that the agent didn't seem more worried than usual.
-Nothing ! Just that awful machine! He grumbled before turning around with a contemptuous look.
- Nice, Doctor, it reassures me to be able to leave you alone then.
He stopped breathing.
For several seconds.
The time that the information passes six times in his head.
-Agent Stone, before I ask you to pin yourself to the wall, I don't think I heard very well what you just said to me.
-Well…I was summoned by the general and…He sent me on a mission.
-On a mission ? He repeated his two words with a mad desire to grab her by the collar. On a mission, without me? he added with a voice straight out of hell.
-Yes…Doctor, I…How can I explain…
- WE'RE GOING TO HAWAII!!!!!
A terrible thundering voice had just tumbled through the workshop, like a devastating storm.
-I am disturbing ? Y/N threw, observing the Doctor and Stone, visibly very busy. We could therefore no longer martyrize our employees without being disturbed by this unbearable little...
- Yes, you are disturbing, Y/N!
- Ha, yes I understand, you're saying your heartbreaking goodbyes to your favorite assistant, but I guess you already have a robot programmed somewhere to make coffee for him, don't you? Don't worry, I'll take good care of him.
Did he just hear well?
- How do you take care of him? And how ?
-Well, doctor… Y/N and I are sent on an infiltration mission.
It didn't happen often, but he really wanted to laugh. Y/N and Stone, together, on a mission? The end of the world was soon...
-In Hawaii? he hissed in a contemptuous tone.
- You're jealous, aren't you?
- Pffff! he rolled his eyes, Y/N definitely didn't understand anything. If you think sunbathing on the beach and playing silly games makes me feel like it, you don't know me well.
- Oh, I know that for you it's only the machines that count, but I've always dreamed of seeing you in a Hawaiian shirt.
He had to force himself to control the redness of his skin.
- And this mission… He started to change the subject, what will it consist of ?
- We have to infiltrate an international business convention. The government is questioning the activities of one of them and would like to know if…
-Shhhut, Stone, we must say nothing! She teased, leaning on him. Y/N seemed to become very familiar with his assistant and he didn't like it at all. Especially since Stone didn't hesitate to become extremely friendly with her, which pleased him even less.
-For infiltrators you are not discreet! He continued in a scathing tone, oddly the anger inside him didn't seem to subside, even in the sarcasm.
-Well, it's part of our game not to be discreet! Y/N continued with that smug tone that annoyed him so much. Know that Aban and I...
Wait, did she just call him by his first name?
- Did you just call Stone by his first name?
- Of course, since for our mission we…
- We have to pretend to be a just married couple.
There, no doubt, he had just had an attack.
-Doctor? Stone threw in a worried tone, are you okay? Why did you get up? Where are you going ?
Where is he going ? It was obvious, right? Throw an atomic bomb in Walters' office for having dared to imagine and above all to apply such a lousy plan!
They paid nothing to wait. Pfft! And this Y/N who seemed delighted to pass this mission with that moron Stone when she could very well stay here with him. Besides, why wouldn't Stone go with someone else? Or even that they don't go, neither of them? At the limit it would do without coffee, but that…
here’s a continuation for this ficlet I did a few days ago. Enjoy ~
Not many things scare Dean Winchester. He's encountered enough monsters in his lifetime, that by now the list of "things that scare Dean Winchester" has been mostly reduced to: airplanes and feelings. Not necessarily in that order.
But then his brother decided to play Gay Husband with Dean's crush best friend and, well... The way Sam is behaving around Cas is pretty much scaring him right now.
It's not like Dean doesn't know they're faking it all for the case. But there's only so many times a man can watch his little brother grab their male friend's ass and call him "honeybee" before he finally intervenes.
"Would you mind... Toning it down?" he says, pulling Sam aside and lowering his voice so that only his brother can hear him, "you're starting to scare me."
"Scare you?" Sam appears genuinely confused and Dean is already regretting this conversation, just like he's regretting coming to this gay bar, agreeing to this stupid plan, and basically every decision in his life that ever contributed to leading him here tonight.
"What the hell have I done to scare you?"
"Oh, you want a list? Well, what about those silly pet names you keep calling Cas? Those sound practiced, Sam. What's up with that? And, what about groping Cas any chance you get? Or staring at him like you're undressing him with your eyes all the damn time?"
Sam just rolls his eyes and walks back to the standing table where Castiel is waiting for them, "Dean, you knew we were doing this, and you agreed to it. I told you not to come with us if you weren't comfortable with the pla-"
"Oh, I'm comfortable alright, " he hurries, nodding his head, albeit aggressively. "I'm so fucking comfortable with the plan, Sam, you ain't never seen anyone as comfortable with a plan as I'm comfortable with the plan."
The way he chugs down the rest of his whiskey in one shot and immediately orders another one is just him celebrating how comfortable he is with all of this. That's all.
"I just," he continues once the new glass arrives and he's drunk all of that too, "I don't think it's really nece-"
"When did you become such a prude?"
It's Cas who says it and Sam who snorts and Dean who stares.
"I'm not a prude!" he barks back, defensive. Then he regrets it immediately and lowers his voice, looking at the angel in the eye, "I just..." he exhales, losing his train of thought in the bright depths of blue staring back at him.
And for a moment it doesn't matter. For a moment, nothing matters. Nor the case, nor the world, nor Dean's paralyzing fear of his own emotions nor his inability to process them or even admit them to himself. For a moment, everything is blue and Cas and him. And it's fine. Everything is fine. It's just them but it's also everything at the same time. And it's fine. There's no fear, no regrets, no anger. No shame. It's all just blue and Cas. He feels peace, everything is fine, and it's all Cas.
He clears his throat subconsciously, and the sound brings him back to reality. To the rumbling bass on the bar's speakers, the drag queens walking on stage, the concerned look on his brother face, and this stupid conversation he regrets starting.
"You know I'm not a prude, Cas." he's practically growling but he barely cares "You know me."
And it's true. Or at least, it should be. Cas should know him by now. Cas should know him better than anyone. Cas has been with him through Hell, and Heaven, and Purgatory, and everything in between. He's seen Dean's soul at its worse and still chose to be his friend. Still chose to say "I'll go with you" so many times now that Dean has lost count. Cas saw who he was, and still chose to follow him, every time. Cas should know by now. He should know... Why doesn't he know?
"Then why are you so uncomfortable with some light sexual touching?"
He really doesn't know?
"I already told you," he grinds his teeth and signals the waiter to bring him two glasses this time "I'm not uncomfortable."
"You don't seem very comfortable either."
"Well, what the hell do you want from me, Cas?" he explodes, raising his voice and making a few heads turn in their direction.
"Honesty, for once" is the soft, caring answer he gets.
As if were that easy. The look on his friend's face breaks Dean's heart a little, but what's another scratch? He finishes off one of the glasses and brings the other one to his lips before placing it back down on the table with a thud.
"Look, if you and Sam need to make out to get the coven's attention so we can kill those sons of bitches, then so be it. Just don't keep dragging it, alright? Let's get this shit over with. It's... "
It's painful, it's wrong, immoral, dirty, twisted. Wrong. He doesn't say. He doesn't think it either. Not really. Only a part of him does. The part of him that still talks in his father's voice. The part of him that never left that motel room where John found him making out with Lee Webb as a teenager. The part of him that hurts.
He clenches his jaw and looks at Sam for support. But all his brother does is quickly alternate his eyes between him and Cas, concerned frown, mouth slightly open, as if to say something.
He doesn't ask it out loud, and Dean is thankful for that but he can still hear the question in Sam's face, dude, are you okay?
And he can't honestly answer that right now. So he just takes another sip of his drink, and avoids Cas' gaze because maybe he isn't. Maybe he should've stopped two whiskeys ago, but how the hell else was he supposed to survive this gay bar thing?
It's one thing for his brother to wrap an arm around Castiel's shoulder. But if he's gonna have to pretend to be okay with the angel calling Sam "baby" and kissing his neck, then he sure as hell ain't doing it sober.
Not many things scare Dean Winchester. And being drunk isn't one of them. He's spent a good portion of his life drowning his sorrows and his traumas (whatever that means). So by now he knows how to be a perfectly good sad drunk or an angry drunk. But bitterness is a new ingredient he doesn't have much experience with.
So when, a few minutes later, he bursts out,
"You're just so lucky you're straight, Sam."
He surprises everyone at the table, including –especially– himself. And a voice in the back of his mind reminds him: this is why he hates feelings.
